Non-problematic thinking

I am a lingua-liberal. I can speak the King's English or standard American English (I am bilingual) but I do not have any sense that the language should be spoken in either of those two ways. I don't get neurotic if language conventions change over time, including spelling. If night changes to nite I couldn't care less, not one iota.

I say that to establish my good-guy credentials immediately before going off on a language rant. There is an expression that seems now to be firmly established in our culture that I don't care for. I don't care for it one bit, and I blame young people for it. (Not a damning judgement. I blame young people for computers and the Internet, good medecine, good literature and bad food.)

Would you like me to tell you what it is, this expression I don't care for?

No problem.

That's the phrase I hate. No problem. It has replaced "You're welcome," but it implies something very very different. It implies that something that would have been a problem wasn't, only because of the very positive attitude of the person saying it.

I first encountered it at a fast food place. I had ordered the double lard-burger on garlic bun with mayo (hold the lettuce) and the cute-as-a-button little girl behind the counter, she of the bright and chipper smile, the maiden Bethanee I believe, was gracious and charming and agreeable. When she gave me my greasy bag 'o cholesterol I said, very sincerely, "Thank you."

"No problem," she replied.

I leaped to paternal conclusions. "Oh dear! Was the last order a problem?" I turned to find someone I could punch on her behalf.

"No," she said.

"Oh good!" I cried, relieved. Then, anxious again, "Have you had a lot of problems today?"

She fidgeted and glanced towards the corner where her manager lurked. "Not until now," she said hesitantly. I was growing unnerved, and suddenly I needed reassurance.

"My order - that was not problem, right?"

"Ummm... riiight...."

"Thank goodness." I was being completely sincere, but something was happening that I wasn't following. "What would have made my order a problem?" I asked. I was wanting to know what trap I had avoided so as not to step into it, ever.

"I dunno...."

Then it hit me. "No problem" meant "You're welcome." And the crabby old man gene kicked in. "Wait a sec... My asking you for an order of double lard-burger on garlic bread with mayo (hold the lettuce,) that didn't give you a problem, right?"

"Ahhh... I dunno..."

"It's your job, right? To give people stuff when they order it? That's what you do for a living, right?"

"Ahhhh... I guess....""

"And so you're saying to me that my asking you to do what you do to earn a living is not creating a problem, is that right?" She looked at me,blinked, and began to roll up the bottom of her T-shirt between two tiny fingers. Tears appeared. But I was on a roll and could not stop. "What exactly could I have done that would have made my placing an order a problem for you, ah, Bethanee?"

"You're doing it?" She spoke in a tiny whisper, tears growing. The manager appeared off to the right, slightly downstage.

I knew I had gone too far. Things were not comme il faut and I needed to beat a graceful retreat if possible and reflect on what I had learned. I beckoned the manager forward.

"You are the manager?"

"May I help you with something?" He didn't call me buddy, which surprised me.

I held up my dripping sack-o-grease and said, "This young lady... Bethanee.... has been very helpful to me. I want to thank you for training your staff so well and making this such a great place to come and.. ummm.... shop." I was running off at the mouth. I bit my tongue.

The manager looked warily at me, then at Bethanee, whose eyes were locked onto his, wide open and afraid.

"So... thank you very much...." I repeated awkwardly and turned to leave.

"No problem," he told my back.

Ererybody watched me on the way out. "There was no problem," I told them. "No problem, no problem at all, no problem..."